Phantom Frequency

Intro

This one started after I saw a post on Reddit. Someone shared a video of a vacant school building with a loudspeaker repeating the phrase,

“YOU NEED TO VACATE THE PREMISES. THE POLICE HAVE BEEN DISPATCHED.”

According to the post, it had been echoing through the neighborhood for hours and no one could shut it off. That was enough to set my imagination loose.

The First Transmission

Clay heard it first through the window. The kind of sound that doesn’t match the hour.

🎧 Audio: Emergency Broadcast – Initial Transmission

It wasn’t a voice meant for people. Not really. It was a recording. A warning for rats in a maze.

The weird thing wasn’t the message.

The weird thing was the Doppler shift.

It was getting closer.

He stepped out in his slippers, looked up Walker Street, and there it was… rolling slow between the shadows:

White van. Chrome trim. Cartoon popsicles peeling off the side. Four fat speakers mounted like a military retrofit.

It should’ve been jingling “Pop Goes the Weasel.”

But it wasn’t selling anything.

It was clearing the town.

🎧 Audio: Emergency Broadcast – Initial Transmission

Clay raised his phone to film it. The screen went black.

When he looked up again, the truck was gone.

The message kept playing. Somewhere. Everywhere.

Dispatch Log

1:41 AM

Dispatch received fourteen calls. Same report: white ice cream truck, no lights, no driver, blasting a voice on loop.

Four patrol cars sent out. Nothing found. Officers advised to discontinue search.

“System glitch,” the supervisor said. “Phantom frequency.”

They said it like they’d said it before.

The Town Wakes

On Juno Avenue, a man in a bathrobe stood on his lawn, watching the streetlights blink like Morse code.

On Emerson, a woman counted the announcements out loud. Forty-seven repetitions. Then a pause. Then it started again.

At the edge of town, two brothers packed up their U-Haul and left. Didn’t even close the door behind them.

All the while:

🎧 Audio: Emergency Broadcast – Initial Transmission

Like God left the intercom on.

Static on the Airwaves

By 3:10 AM, every house had a light on. Every porch had someone standing on it, staring down the street, waiting for the truck to come back.

Some claimed it had no wheels.
Others said it was driving in circles.
One guy in the diner swore he walked straight toward it and came out in a cul-de-sac six blocks west, like the streets had moved behind him.

The cops stopped answering calls.
The power company said there was no outage, despite the flickering.

The voice never stopped.

The DJ

4:22 AM

A local DJ tried to make a joke of it.

“Hey folks, if you see Mister Dippy, tell him we want a Bomb Pop and a cease-and-desist.”

His station went to static mid-sentence.

His car was still idling in the lot when they found it.

Doors open. Air warm.

Engine running.

No sign of him.

🎧 Audio: Emergency Broadcast – Initial Transmission

The Aftermath

By morning, the mail didn’t come. The diner didn’t open. The crows were louder than usual.

A few people left. Most didn’t. Some stayed inside, pulled their blinds, and pretended. Pretended it wasn’t still playing. Pretended the truck wasn’t circling the block, slower now. Closer.

The sound system was old, but the message was clear.

It wasn’t asking anymore.

It was telling.

The Vanishing

No one caught up to the truck.

Not once.

Even if they swore they were right behind it. Even if they left skid marks on the pavement.

It always vanished at the next intersection.

The ones who went after it never stayed long. Some drove off. Some just… disappeared.

By nightfall, half the town was gone.

The message played on.

The truck rolled slower.

As if savoring the silence.

🎧 Audio: Emergency Broadcast – Initial Transmission

And who could argue with that?